


Aversion Therapy

by basilique



Series: American Nights [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, 1940s American slang, Anal Sex, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Brock Rumlow is Bucky's "therapist", Brooklyn, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes-centric, Bucky's parents gave him to HYDRA to shock the gay away, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Electricity, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, Forbidden Love, Frottage, HYDRA is the Homosexual Youth Direct Rehabilitation Agency, If you only read one work by me, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Kissing, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Electroconvulsive Therapy, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn With Plot, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers is a reckless little shit, Threats of Violence, Torture, and he is super predatory, canon stucky, electric shock, gay conversion therapy, researched fic, ruined orgasm, soft sucking, some historical accuracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:17:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6080796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basilique/pseuds/basilique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WARNING: TRIGGERS FOR HOMOPHOBIA, TORTURE, AND PREDATORY/OPPRESSIVE BEHAVIOR IN THIS SUMMARY</p><p>“You’re experiencing homosexual urges, James,” the man says. “You can avoid shocks to the genitals by suppressing any arousal you experience at the images.” </p><p>“Make it stop,” Bucky gasps. There is another shock, this time to his hands again. </p><p> “Only you can make it stop, James,” says the man. “And it may take some time. But as your therapist, I will make sure you get there.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Electroconvulsive Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the tags and take care, this could potentially be a very unsettling fic!

_A locker room scene: a bulky coach is rubbing the shoulders of a young athlete, looking down at the boy with a predatory gaze._

There is a shock to Bucky’s hands. Startled, he cries out. 

The projector flashes white for a moment, and then another grainy black and white image: _a man in swim-trunks bends and prepares to dive into a pool, while another man standing behind him stares at his rear-end._

There is another shock to Bucky’s hands, and again he jumps in surprise and pain. He tries to wrench his hands out of their constraints. But he is clamped tightly into the chair. There are cuffs on his wrists, a band across his chest, and a metal rod clamped between his legs, holding him in like some cruel booster seat. 

His heart speeds up with the beginning of a panic; the next shock is only seconds away. 

The projector clicks. _Two teenage boys are kissing, pressed up against a wall of lockers in a deserted high school hallway._

Bucky’s heart leaps, unbidden; the one with his back to the wall is small and blond, like Steve. He has his arms around the taller boy’s neck, his fingers grasping at his hair… 

The shock this time is to Bucky’s groin. 

Bucky yells. He jerks back, trying to pull away from the metal rod between his legs. 

The man in the white coat takes a step closer, from where he had been hovering with his clipboard, watching from a corner of the room. The room is only dimly lit, and Bucky had nearly forgotten the man was there. 

“You’re experiencing homosexual urges, James,” the man says. “You can avoid shocks to the genitals by suppressing any arousal you experience at the images.” 

“Make it stop,” Bucky gasps. There is another shock, this time to his hands again. 

“Only you can make it stop, James,” says the man. “And it may take some time. But as your therapist, I will make sure you get there.” 

_A close-up image: a man rubs his half-erect cock through tight white briefs._

The dread of the shock makes Bucky feel sick, and the shock itself, to his groin again, hurts worse than ever. Bucky’s head falls back against the chair and he screws up his face as his eyes start to water; he will not cry in front of this man. 

“Keep your attention focused on the images,” the man says sharply. “It is important that you keep the experience of the shocks associated with the homosexual desires. It is the pairing that creates the aversion--” 

“Go fuck yourself,” Bucky snarls, his eyes still closed. The next shock penetrates his hands again, and he sees odd bright lights behind his eyelids. The doctor chuckles and his professional language drops, so abruptly that it is unnerving. “Ohhh, got a bit of a fighter, have I? Are you regretting what you paid for, son?” 

“I didn’t pay you nothin’.” 

“No?” The doctor raises his eyebrows and reluctantly takes his eyes off Bucky’s pained face for a moment to glance down at the clipboard. “Say, you’re right, I see… _ohh_ , the boys in the office are good to me. They know I prefer involuntary patients. And this is your first session too, huh?” He is barely suppressing a grin. “Let me get a little background on you.” 

He strides toward Bucky across the room. He pauses long enough to let the oversize generator deliver one more painful shock to Bucky’s hands, and then clicks a switch on its control board that powers-down both the generator and the projector. 

The buzzing and clicking noises stop abruptly, and the small white-washed room fills with a static silence. 

Bucky draws a deep, shaky breath. His forehead and back are covered in a thin, cold sweat and his chest is rising and falling harshly with his labored breaths. His eyes are watering uncontrollably, and to his shame a few drops spill out to slide down his cold cheeks. 

“Let’s get to know each other better.” The doctor pulls up a wooden stool from against the wall and sits down in front of Bucky. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he reads off the top of the clipboard. “Age seventeen. Involuntary patient.” He glances up at Bucky and his expression is just a little too close to delight. 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, James. I’m Dr. Rumlow. I specialize in primitive narcissistic oral rage and the masculine beating fantasy. Essentially, that means the root causes of homosexual development. So you’re in good hands. I’m well trusted by the American Psychiatric Association; they know I attack at the root. I was assigned to come work for HYDRA and step-up its performance in Brooklyn.” 

“That’s a pretty speech, how many times you said that in front of the mirror?” Bucky sneers, with all the venom he can muster. 

“Got a mouth on you, don’t you?” Rumlow says, almost appraisingly, before looking down at his clipboard again. 

Bucky studies Rumlow’s face. The man’s refined, removed attitude rings false. There is something brutish about him. His movements are a little too forceful, and he had been observing Bucky’s pain and humiliation with an interest that could not be construed as “strictly medical”. The American Psychiatric Association was wrong to trust him with the power of a position like this; Bucky would not so much as trust him to write prescriptions for cold medicine. 

Rumlow flips a few pages of the document on his clipboard, and draws out a hand-scribbled office note. He reads aloud. “The parents of James Barnes have committed him to the care of the Homosexual Youth Direct Rehabilitation Agency of Brooklyn for conversion therapy, due to their suspicions of an unnatural relationship between their son and a male schoolmate.” Dr. Rumlow glances up at Bucky and clicks his tongue, clearly amused. Bucky glares back. “James Barnes reportedly invited the schoolmate in question to move into his apartment, confirming long-held suspicions of the parents that the affection between the two boys was more sinister than a healthy boyhood friendship. Barnes is an involuntary committal, and likely to resist treatment. Rigorous and rapid conditioning is advised.” 

Bucky stifles a sigh of relief. The mention of Steve had made him nervous, but by luck, Steve’s name had not been disclosed in the office note. Bucky did not know if HYDRA actively sought-out boys to fill their electric chairs, but Steve was technically under the care of the state until his eighteenth birthday, and if HYDRA asked for him, the state was almost sure to turn him over. 

Bucky’s stomach twists at the thought of Steve strapped to a chair like this, a man like Rumlow leering over him. However bad Bucky’s situation here might be, at least he could thank his lucky stars that Steve was safe at home in their apartment. 

Rumlow sets the clipboard down in his lap. He leans forward to set his hand on Bucky’s shoulder at the edge of his neck and runs his thumb gently across Bucky’s throat. Bucky’s stomach twists with revulsion. “You may not believe me now, but your parents did the right thing to hand you over to me, James," says Rumlow. 

He pushes the stool away and stands up. He reaches for the button on the oversized shock generator.


	2. Masturbatory Reconditioning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Bucky’s surprise, the first image that appears on the projector screen is not of a man, but a woman. _She is bending over a kitchen countertop to wipe it down. Her hair and her little sweater vest are neat, but her skirt is scandalously tight across her behind. She is turning to look over her shoulder, the hint of a naughty smile on her lips_.  
>  While Bucky blinks at the image, puzzling over why Rumlow would show him an image of a woman, Rumlow rolls a small table to the side of Bucky’s chair. There is an open tin can on it; Bucky reads the label. It’s a lubricant, medical grade.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Rumlow subjects Bucky to "masturbatory reconditioning". 
> 
> Content warning: Forced voyeurism, bi erasure, more torture and Rumlow creeping

The days blur together as Bucky goes back and forth between the electric chair and a thin cot in a small, whitewashed room with no windows.  
Bucky estimates that he has been at HYDRA for little more than a week, although it feels like months.  


His body is tense. He is jumpy, easily startled. He jerks awake from his shallow sleep at least twice a night, often perceiving that the walls are closing-in on him.  


It is a solitary confinement cell. The only people he sees are Dr. Rumlow and the guards who escort him back and forth down the white hallways, from the chair to the cot, the chair to the cot.  


For all he knows, Bucky could be the only patient in this place. The boys are isolated from one another in sound-proof rooms.  


As fucked-up as it is, after a night of skin-crawling isolation in his cell, Bucky is almost glad to see Rumlow leering over him in his white coat.  


“We will begin reconditioning your positive sexual responses today,” Rumlow says. He clicks the projector on.  


Bucky bites back his smart-mouthed retort; it isn’t worth it. Rumlow has taken to turning up the intensity of the shock generator every time Bucky runs his mouth.  


Besides, Rumlow’s words give Bucky a very tentative feeling of hope. Does this mean they are starting a new phase of his “therapy”? Of course, that probably means Rumlow’s planning to hurt him in some new way. But at this point, Bucky would take pretty much anything over the shocks.  


To Bucky’s surprise, the first image that appears on the projector screen is not of a man, but a woman. _She is bending over a kitchen countertop to wipe it down. Her hair and her little sweater vest are neat, but her skirt is scandalously tight across her behind. She is turning to look over her shoulder, the hint of a naughty smile on her lips_.  


While Bucky blinks at the image, puzzling over why Rumlow would show him an image of a woman, Rumlow rolls a small table to the side of Bucky’s chair. There is an open tin can on it; Bucky reads the label. It’s a lubricant, medical grade.  


Irrationally, in a way that is quite removed from his situation, Bucky imagines stealing it and bringing it home as a present for Steve. It looks much finer than the cheap corner store Vaseline they use.  


He comes back to reality as Rumlow crouches down in front of him.  


“Keep your thoughts and attention focused on these images,” Rumlow instructs. “They are intended to elicit a healthy male sexual response. You may have some difficulty at first, but with practice you can strengthen this response, even as you weaken your homosexual urges.”  


“Ain’t you ever heard of a bisexual?” Bucky sneers, before he can stop himself. But thankfully, Rumlow ignores his back-talking this time. The man reaches in to adjust the metal rod between Bucky’s legs. He draws it away about an inch, so that it is no longer pressed up against Bucky’s groin. And then, to Bucky’s amazement, Rumlow frees his hands from their constraints.  


Rumlow’s eyes flick up to Bucky’s, and he smirks a little at Bucky’s confusion.  


“Please, don’t mind me,” Rumlow says. “I’ll merely be observing from the wall.”  


“…observing?” Bucky suddenly understands, and his eyes widen incredulously. “You want me to _jerk off_?”  


“Yes.” Rumlow paces to the back wall and poses with his pen over his clipboard.  


Bucky blows out a puff of air. “You just gonna stand there and watch?”  


Rumlow leans back leisurely against the wall as answer. “We will end today’s session when you achieve climax,” he says. He barely suppresses another smirk, his eyes fixed unblinkingly on Bucky.  


Bucky exhales and looks down at his freed hands, and then at the can of lube. Even with Rumlow watching him like a vulture, he’d take this over the shocks any day. Bucky’s not exactly shy about his body; he’s let a dame or two watch him work himself up, and he’s jerked off plenty of times for Steve, even fingered himself for Steve’s viewing pleasure. The real question is whether he’ll be able to get off under these unappealing circumstances. If he can manage it, sounds like that means a short session today.  


He takes a deep breath and opens his fly.  


He undoes his trousers and reaches for the tube of lube. The image of the woman cleaning the counter has clicked off, to be replaced by one of a ballerina stretching on the floor. _Her legs are spread wide and her rump a little raised as she leans forward._  


Bucky unceremoniously pulls out his cock, and tells himself he only imagined the sharp intake of breath from Rumlow’s corner of the room. He ignores the blush he feels in his cheeks, rubs a dollop of lube between his hands to warm it, and slicks it over his cock.  


He breathes out again and tries to relax.  


He starts rubbing himself with both hands. He is limp, but he stares determinedly at the ballerina’s rear-end, trying to forget where he is. He imagines _crouching on his knees behind her, gripping her hips to lift her up and rub himself in the cleft of her ass. He holds her there one-handed, reaching around to run his fingers lightly over her crotch through her leotard. She strains into her split, wanting more, pushing against his fingers. She is wet through the stretchy fabric, rolling her clit on his knuckles, and_ —yes! It is working. Bucky is starting to get hard.  


The projector clicks and suddenly Bucky’s tryst is over. Now he is looking at a bikini-clad girl posing on a beach towel. _She is giving him a rascally grin; she has removed her bikini top and is holding it up naughtily in the air. Her sweetly curving torso is turned away from him, one arm wrapped around herself to conceal her breasts._  


Bucky dives into it. _She’s a summer fling, a lifeguard on this beach. They’ve been hot for each other since June. Now they’ve got the beach to themselves. He’s just spread sunblock all over her body, running a finger just underneath all the edges of her bikini, and she’s turned on. She’s gonna let him finger her under the dock. She’s gonna--_  


Click.  


Bucky’s summer fling vanishes, and a famous actress takes her place. _She’s gazing at him blissfully across a bed through hooded eyes, her dark hair splayed out across the pillow. Looks like she probably just rode him, and she’s planning on doing it again._ Bucky recognizes her; he’d splurged to take Steve to a technicolor movie some months ago, and she had been the leading lady. Bucky is very hard now, and fantasies come easily. _She’s got a Hollywood boyfriend, some big-shot director, but she’s got the hots for him, some kid from Brooklyn. She knows she's way out of his league, but she’s horny enough that she doesn’t care. She’s gonna screw him, and fuck it, screw his boyfriend too. Yes! She's gonna push Steve back on that bed. She's gonna keep her big dark eyes on Bucky while she blows his boyfriend. Steve's gonna gasp and moan, grip Bucky's hand and make that incredible keening sound he makes when Bucky deep-throats him. Ohhh, shit, Steve fucking Rogers, shit..._  


"Keep your eyes open, James," Rumlow orders, and Bucky snaps his eyes open. He had momentarily managed to forget where he was.  
Rumlow's grip on his pen and clipboard has gone a little slack. He licks his lips. A shudder runs through Bucky. He is nowhere near safe and he knows it, but he is still gonna come, and come hard. His eyes start to close again. All he wants is to escape into the pleasure, to feel for one moment like he is free.  


"Eyes open," Rumlow growls, but Bucky _can't_. He can't come back to this Hell when Heaven is so close. _So...close..._  


Without warning, Rumlow strides across the room. He jerks the bar between Bucky's legs forward and slams the shock generator, and a surge of electricity coarses into Bucky's bare, aroused cock. 

Bucky screams. 

His head slams back against the chair. His pleasure vanishes and all he feels is a deep, scorching pain, which throbs with the hot blood still beating in his cock. Blackness begins to creep in at the corners of his vision. 

He hears himself moaning as though from far away. Rumlow gives a growl of approval. "You clearly need more aversion training before we try this again," says Rumlow's echoing voice. "Hands back in the cuffs, please, James."

Bucky passes out.


	3. The Masculine Beating Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No, James," he says at last, still winding the long bandage around his hand. "Boys who can't be cured are a menace to society. So we turn to last resorts upstairs. And what do you think those are?"
> 
> Rumlow leaves another long, sickening pause, and then answers his own question. "Ice pick lobotomies, James. Chemical castrations. Boys come out either brain-dead or ruined. And I'd _hate_ to see a boy like you ruined."
> 
> Rumlow tucks the bandage neatly in on itself. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at Bucky. "So I'm going to give myself permission to go a bit...off-script," he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings:  
> Lots of violence in this chapter! And threats.  
> Nausea pills (but no actual nausea)  
> Non-consensual (and pretty sexualized) spanking  
> References to incest (discussion of Freudian theories of sexual desire)

“Open nice and wide for me, James.” 

Bucky clamps his mouth firmly shut. 

“It’s either this or we continue with the shocks,” Rumlow threatens. Bucky glares up from the chair, his jaw locked. 

There is something insufferable about the idea of swallowing the large, chalky pill that Rumlow holds up, pinched between two latex-gloved fingers. 

Rumlow claims that the pill will induce nausea, which in conjunction with homoerotic imagery will lead Bucky to develop a visceral disgust for homosexuality. This will compliment the reflexive fear conditioned in him by the shocks. 

But nausea means weakness. And Bucky has no intention of giving up what little strength he has right now. 

"Oh, so you prefer the chair?" Rumlow bullies. "Either you take this now, voluntarily, or you take it involuntarily _and_ I turn the chair on. Trust me, son, you won't enjoy that." 

Bucky puts on his most spiteful glower. He has no intention of swallowing that goddamn pill. 

Rumlow heaves a long-suffering sigh, but his eyes are a little too gleeful.

"So be it," he proclaims, and reaches down to clamp two fingers around Bucky's nose. Bucky jerks to shake him off, but his grip is like iron. Bucky holds his breath for as long as he can, but the burning in his lungs quickly becomes unbearable, and he has no choice; he opens his mouth to gasp for air. 

Rumlow grasps Bucky's jaw roughly. He pops the pill into Bucky's mouth and slaps his hand over it to force Bucky to swallow. 

Something between panic and rage rears in Bucky's chest. 

Without thinking, without reasoning, he bites down on Rumlow's hand as hard as he can. His teeth rip through the latex of the glove. 

Rumlow snatches his hand away with a cry. 

Bucky spits out the chalky pill, along with the taste of latex and a bit of Rumlow's blood. It is enormously satisfying to see Rumlow take a few steps back, cursing and nursing his bleeding hand. Bucky knows his satisfaction will be short-lived, however. 

Rumlow is not going to let him get away with that unscathed.

Bucky prepares himself for the fallout, but it does not immediately come.

The doctor strides to a corner of the room and turns his back on Bucky. He pops open a first aid kit on a metal shelf, and takes his time smearing his hand with a disinfectant cream. As the cream soothes the bite, his shoulders visibly relax. The choler in his cheeks and neck fades away, and he begins to move very slowly and deliberately. 

Bucky's stomach twists. Rumlow is frightening when he bullies crassly, but he is even more frightening when he gets calm and purposeful. 

"There's a reason I do this work, James," Rumlow says at last, slowly winding a cloth bandage around his hand. "I want to help the good boys who've gone bad. Do you think you're a good boy underneath it all, James? I do." 

Bucky does not answer. His survival instincts are kicking in; he'll be keeping silent now. 

"The American Psychiatric Association," Rumlow says, "does not share my opinion. When a boy misbehaves, resists treatment for long enough, they send him upstairs." Rumlow pauses for several moments, and then smiles a little to himself. " _And what do you imagine happens upstairs_ , James?" 

Bucky stays silent, his heart beating very quickly. He has never seen Rumlow look so much like a cat playing with a mouse. 

"A little scolding?" Rumlow prompts. "A smack across the knuckles?" He giggles at his own joke. 

"No, James," he says at last, still winding the long bandage around his hand. "Boys who can't be cured are a menace to society. So we turn to last resorts upstairs. And what do you think those are?" 

Bucky makes a terrible connection. There had been nights, as he lay tense and only half-asleep in his cell, that he fancied he heard screaming above him. Horrific cries of agony or rage that were cut-off mid breath, as though hands had been clapped over the screaming mouths, or gags had been fastened. He had told himself that he was only dreaming. He does not want to hear that he was wrong. 

Rumlow leaves another long, sickening pause, and then answers his own question. 

" _Ice pick lobotomies_ , James. _Chemical castrations_. Boys come out either brain-dead or ruined. And I'd _hate_ to see a boy like you ruined."

Rumlow tucks the bandage neatly in on itself. He turns his head to look over his shoulder at Bucky. "So I'm going to give myself permission to go a bit...off-script." 

He turns slowly, and approaches Bucky. Bucky fights to keep his face blank; an uninteresting target, not worthwhile prey. 

Rumlow's chest is rising and falling heavily. The man is excited, but his voice is cool, his tone professional. 

He kneels at Bucky's knees. He reaches up to remove the shock bar from Bucky's groin and sets it aside on the ground. 

"The masculine beating fantasy, James," he says, "my special area of study, is the reason for homosexual desire in boys. When you were an infant, your mother weened you too early, and that is the reason for your mal-adaptive lusts. You experienced a primitive narcissistic rage at being denied her breasts. This rage then caused you to feel guilt, because it indicated sexual desire for your mother, who you knew to be off-limits to you as your father's mate."

Rumlow reaches up again and slowly begins to unfasten Bucky's belt. Bucky freezes completely. _What the hell is Rumlow going to do to him?_

"And so you developed fantasies of being beaten by your father," Rumlow continues, his voice a little breathy as he fumbles with Bucky's fly, "and your primitive fixation with breasts was transferred to a primitive fixation with the buttocks. Your own buttocks, and by extension, the buttocks of other men." 

Even frozen as he is, Bucky feels a bizarre, wild urge to laugh. The explanation is so far-fetched that it sounds like a joke.

Rumlow jerks a lever on the side of the chair, and the seat begins to recline. Bucky finds his body lying back. Rumlow stands up and comes around the side of the chair to free Bucky's hands and chest from their constraints. 

"On your stomach." 

Mechanical in his fear, Bucky obeys. He flips over on what is now more like a cot than a chair, and Rumlow snaps his hands back into the constraints, trapping them at his sides.

"It is my professional opinion that exposure to your subconscious beating fantasies may help to eradicate them," Rumlow says, his voice still breathy as he tugs at Bucky's trousers. He pulls them down over Bucky's ass, leaves them around his knees. 

He threads Bucky's belt and clasps it tight, so that it binds Bucky's knees together.

"Freud didn't think we ought to do this," Rumlow murmurs. "But the bastard's finally dead."

He smacks Bucky on the ass. 

The thin layer of Bucky's briefs does little to protect him from the force of the slap, or the sting that follows. He flinches, tightening his ass instinctively. 

Rumlow slaps him in the very same spot, and again. The bandage on his hand makes the burn worse. 

Again and again Rumlow hits him, winding up harder each time, until Bucky feels like his ass is on fire. Sharp little spurts of pain spread into his lower back, his hamstrings, his cock. To his shame, a whimper tears out of his throat.

"Not so good, is it?" Rumlow pants. "Don't feel so good to be a bad boy. Not like you'd imagine, is it?" 

Rumlow smacks Bucky low on the center of his ass. He hits at the right angle, and with enough force that his hand parts Bucky's cheeks a little. A shudder runs through Bucky, and he bites his lip to keep from whimpering again. There is no logical explanation for it, but he is starting to get _hard_. He thanks his lucky stars that he is lying face down, and Rumlow cannot see his dick hardening against the cot. 

"No, not like you'd imagine," Rumlow hisses. It seems he is talking to himself more than to Bucky. He smacks Bucky low, almost between the cheeks again. Bucky gasps. 

"Not like you'd imagine, being bad. Hurts, don't it James? Don't it _hurt_?"

The next smack is merciless, driving Bucky's cheeks apart. Overwhelmed by feelings he does not quite understand, Bucky moans into the cot. 

"Good boy," Rumlow growls. "Let me hear how it hurts." 

A series of short, sharp smacks to the same spot elicit a string of moans from Bucky, and gravelly snarls of approval rip out of Rumlow's throat. 

"Yeah? Gonna be black and blue, James. Black and blue. Every time you take a shit you'll remember how bad you were." 

_Smack._ "Gonna beat all the bad out of you." 

_Smack._ Bucky cries out like he's been wounded. "Yes, good boy." 

_Smack._ "Gonna make you a good boy, James. You'll see." 

_Smack._


	4. The Induction of Nausea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crash.
> 
> Rumlow flings open the door. 
> 
> He looks directly at Bucky for the first time in weeks. 
> 
> “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t have you lobotomized,” he says flatly. 
> 
> Bucky raises his head, with some difficulty, to meet Rumlow’s gaze. With all the nausea in his body, there is no room anymore for fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT CONTENT WARNINGS!
> 
> Transmisogyny, abuse and intentional mis-gendering of a trans girl  
> Homophobic slurs  
> Vomiting (Rumlow drugs Bucky to make him vomit)  
> Internalized queerphobia (on Rumlow's part)  
> Self-punishment (Rumlow harming himself because of his attraction to Bucky) 
> 
> If you'd like to skip the transmisogyny and homophobic slurs, you can skip down to the first asterisk-break, and read from there. You'll still be able to follow the plot! :) 
> 
> If you'd like to skip the vomit, you can skip all the way down and read only the last section, (after the last asterisk-break). You'll still be able to generally follow the plot! And I'll make it obvious in the next chapter what happened. :) 
> 
> If you'd like to skip the self-punishment, follow the same instructions for skipping the vomit (see above). 
> 
> I had to take some self-care breaks writing this because it's very intense. Take care, my darlings!

_A knock on the door of the cell._

Bucky wakes, and listens blearily to the curt instructions directed to him through the crack of the door. 

He is to pack-up his possessions. 

After his day’s session with Dr. Rumlow, he will be moved to a new room. HYDRA has just admitted a new round of patients, and the dormitories are at full capacity. Bucky’s cell is to be assigned to a patient who is “higher priority for solitary confinement”. 

Bucky does not respond to the instructions: it hurts to speak. Two weeks of nausea-based aversion therapy have left vomit burns in his throat. 

He has given up on fighting Rumlow. After the spanking incident, he was shaken, and somehow flattened. He had swallowed the nausea pill without any more fight. 

Now Bucky obeyed Rumlow’s instructions without any fight at all. He obediently laid back in the chair to let the guards strap him in at the beginning of each session, no struggling and no back-talking. When Rumlow prescribed a day of nausea, Bucky opened his mouth for the pill and Rumlow’s latex-gloved fingers even before Rumlow asked. 

Throwing-in the towel was unlike Bucky. But this place was methodically chipping away at who he was. He was learning that it was better to be complicit in his own pain and humiliation: resistance only brought more of it upon him. 

Oddly, and though Bucky did not understand it, the spanking incident seemed to have triggered a change in Rumlow’s behavior, as much as in Bucky’s. The doctor had been stiff and fiercely professional for a full week after deviating from his medical script. He had hardly touched Bucky, hardly teased him. In fact, he had averted his eyes from Bucky’s face. 

Even more inexplicably, Bucky had noticed that Rumlow had taken to pressing his fingernails into his own skin, or winding his hands around each other and clawing a little at himself, leaving raw red streaks across his knuckles. This tick has been cropping-up especially when Bucky moaned with pain or fell back in the chair. _But why would Rumlow absent-mindedly hurt himself while he tortured Bucky?_ He could not possibly feel guilt for inflicting Bucky’s suffering; Rumlow is a certified sadist. Bucky does not understand, but he does not have the mental energy to puzzle over Rumlow’s odd, unconscious self-punishment. 

Bucky groans drowsily and rolls out of his cot. The guards have woken him earlier than usual, and he sways on the spot for a moment, rubbing his eyes, before he sets to the task of packing his possessions to move out. As his brain wakes up, he starts to feel something like hope. If some new boy is a “higher priority for solitary confinement”, then that must mean that Bucky is to be moved into a room with a roommate. The prospect of company is glorious. 

Bucky had not had time to pack much more than a toothbrush before his parents dropped him at HYDRA. Everything he owns here fits easily into a handkerchief, which he knots into a bundle and throws on the bed. 

There is another knock on the door. 

That’ll be the guards, come to take him to Rumlow. Bucky’s stomach twists with dread, as it does every morning at that knock. But he tells himself that he has a secret weapon to get him through today; he is going to meet another patient tonight, someone to connect to and commiserate with. Let Rumlow do what he will to his body today, Bucky will be elsewhere in his mind. 

The door opens. And at the sight that greets him, Bucky gawks in surprise. 

Instead of his regular pair of guards, two unfamiliar guards stand in the doorway. His own guards are skulking behind, evidently waiting for these two to finish some sort of business before taking Bucky to Rumlow. All four of the guards look amused, as though they are sharing some nasty joke. 

And standing in the middle of their cluster, stone pale and trembling, is a _girl_. 

“Get your things,” the small, pig-like guard in the front tells Bucky, but Bucky is frozen in shock. He stands, stunned, as the two new guards push the girl into the room. His own guards hang back in the doorway, grinning. 

The girl is a year or two younger than Bucky, dark-haired and freckled. Black tear tracks from mascara are streaked down here cheeks, and she is clutching a blue button dress to her chest as if it were a life preserver. She is transgender; Bucky can tell from the shape of her body, and someone has dressed her in _boys’_ hospital pajamas. 

It all comes together in Bucky’s mind; he understands all at once what is going on here. _She_ is the new high-security patient. 

Bucky has become very familiar with the sensation of nausea over the past few weeks. But the nausea that rises inside of him now is different. _They are going to keep her in solitary confinement, torture her, probably even worse than they’ve tortured Bucky. They’ll hold out until she either dies or gives up who she is. Christ, what tortures have they got lined up for her?_ Bucky’s hands curl into fists. 

“What the hell is this?” he says. His voice sounds hoarse from pain and disuse. 

The guards ignore him. The pig-like guard puts his hands on the girl’s shoulders and pushes her to sitting on the cot. His big, oafish companion reaches into his pocket and passes him a pocketknife. 

The pig-like guard takes ahold of one of the girl’s neat braids. “ _Please_ ,” she gasps, tears forming in her red eyes again, and holds up a hand in front of herself, but the guard ignores her and begins to saw the braid off at the base with the pocketknife. 

“N-No!” Bucky gasps. “No!” He makes a move toward the small guard, a hand outstretched to grab the man’s wrist, but the larger guard steps into his path. 

“There a problem, faggot?” the larger guard growls. 

Bucky is still too stunned to make a clever come-back. “You wouldn’t-- you can’t keep a dame in this place—you _can’t_ —“ 

“He ain’t a dame,” snaps the larger guard. With a yank and a forceful slice, the smaller guard cuts the girl’s braid away. She cries out in pain and humiliation, clapping a hand to the newly short hair on the side of her head. 

“You _stop that_ ,” Bucky snarls. “Don’t you _touch_ her. Get the _hell_ away from her.” 

“What’s the matter, fruit?” the oafish guard taunts Bucky. “Scared someone might be prettier than you?” 

The other guards guffaw. 

“Clear him out, will you?” the pig-like guard calls to Bucky’s guards in the doorway, once the laughter has died down. “We have a session to prep this one for.” 

“ _No_!” Bucky’s horror flares up inside of him, white hot and uncontrollable. 

His fist draws back to slug the guard in front of him across the face. _He will break his goddamn nose…_

But suddenly, both of Bucky’s arms are twisted painfully behind his back; the guards in the doorway have dashed up to catch him from behind. 

Bucky twists, thrusts his shoulders forward and tries to jerk his wrists free, but it is no good. He lurches desperately as the guards drag him backwards toward the door of the room. 

“You _can’t_ do this!” Bucky yells again, as he is dragged through the doorway. “I’ll do her session-please, let me go in her place, _please_ , don’t--” 

The oafish guard strides forward, and with a little smirk, swings the door shut. Bucky’s last glimpse into the room is of the piggish guard slicing off the girl’s second braid. 

Her bloodshot eyes meet Bucky’s, just long enough to share a flash of understanding, a sympathy between them that is almost tangible, before the door slams in Bucky’s face. 

“Scoundrels!” Bucky yells, and kicks the door. 

“Take it easy, pally. You don’t wanna crust those guys,” says the guard at Bucky’s left, with what sounds almost like concern. “They’re real buddy-buddy with Rumlow. Could make it worse for you on the hotsquat.” 

“Go to hell,” Bucky snarls at him. 

“Alright, well don’t say I didn’t warn ya,” says the guard. “Now you gonna walk to your session, or are we gonna have to drag you?” 

***

Bucky is on his knees, with his hands tied behind his back. 

He watches the projector screen, only because there is nothing else to look at in the room. His head spins with nausea: Rumlow had drugged him, wordlessly and with a blank expression, before responding to a knock at the door. The doctor slipped out into the hallway, and Bucky heard a murmured greeting between him and several other men, before the door clicked shut, leaving Bucky alone with the projector and his spinning head. 

Bucky is angry. The nausea from the chalky white pill mingles with the horror of the scene he just witnessed in his cell. The bile rising in his throat feels more like rage than illness. A thin, hot sweat dampens his shirt. The constraints at his wrists chafe and rash a little with the moisture. 

Click. _On the projector, the muscled back of a naked man lying on a satin bed. The man’s shoulder blades are tensed, his back slightly arched, and his hand clenches a fistful of sheets, as though he is in the throws of sensation._

Bucky had forgotten how it felt to be angry. His blood is pounding and his heart hurts for the girl he had seen in his cell, probably being strapped in for her first session at this very moment. But it feels _good_ to be angry. It feels _right_. 

The drug starts to take its hold on him and Bucky feels a lurch of nausea. The room spins and his throat tightens. His stomach twists, and even his vision blurs a little. 

Click. _Two boys are skinny-dipping in a dark lake, under the moon. They stand waist-deep in the water locked in a kiss, their hips and chests pressed fiercely together._

The image is almost incomprehensively blurry. Waves of unbearable heat roll over Bucky, and he is not strong enough to hold himself up in the spinning room. His bound hands are of no use to him, and he slumps, collapses onto his side, bumping his head a little on the floor. The tile is mercifully cool, and he turns his head to press his forehead against it and closes his eyes. 

He sees stars behind his eyelids, and his anger feels sweet, soothing him through the nausea. 

_They cannot take away his anger. He does not have to comply. How could they possibly hurt him any more? Pain means nothing to him anymore. Humiliation is an illusion._

Click. 

_A young male intern kneels before a businessman in an elevator. The intern has dropped his folder, and paperwork splays across the floor. His eyes are raised to his boss’s as he unzips the older man’s fly, leaning in with his the tip of his tongue out to moisten his lips._

Crash. 

Rumlow flings open the door. 

He looks directly at Bucky for the first time in weeks. 

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t have you lobotomized,” he says flatly. 

Bucky raises his head, with some difficulty, to meet Rumlow’s gaze. With all the nausea in his body, there is no room anymore for fear. 

“Well, my head’s awful pretty, don’tcha think? Shame to put a hole in it.” 

Rumlow frowns. “I’ve just got it on a good authority that you’ve been gumming the works around here. Refused to vacate your room for another patient and tried to sock a guard across the face. You got anything to say about that?” 

“Yeah. That fella looks like a fat pig and moves like a scrub. Next time I see him, I’ll break his ugly nose. Any other questions?” 

Rumlow frowns even more deeply, surveying Bucky with a mixture of bemusement and irritation, but before he can speak, Bucky’s stomach gives a horrible twist. The nausea swells, and Bucky heaves, vomiting onto the floor. 

“Yeah, I got another question,” Rumlow says when Bucky is finished. He is completely un-phased by Bucky vomiting; he has been watching it for weeks. “What the hell has gotten into you? I’ve taught you so good, James. Why are you misbehaving again? You lost your mind? Or have you forgotten what I told you, what they do when a boy resists treatment? Do you want to find out for yourself, James, _what they do upstairs_?” 

Bucky’s head falls back onto the floor and his eyes roll closed; his eyelids are too heavy to lift. His entire body is wet with hot sweat now. Even his scalp is slick against the tile floor. But Rumlow’s threats do not frighten him. It is like he has transcended fear. 

“I don’t care what you do to me,” he says, his eyes still closed. “And any case, you won’t send me upstairs.” 

“Oh _no_?” Rumlow growls, and slowly lowers himself to a crouch a few feet from Bucky, surveying him across the puddle of vomit. “Care to tell me why not, James?” 

With a huge effort, Bucky manages to lift his heavy eyelids. He turns his head and looks directly at Rumlow. 

“You won’t send me upstairs cause you like to hurt me. You’re a filthy sick bastard hypocrite. You think about fucking me while you torture me.” 

Rumlow gapes at him, too shocked and furious even to speak. A second swell of nausea hits Bucky and he rolls onto his side and vomits on the floor again, harder this time. 

Rumlow digs his fingernails deep into the flesh of his own palms, deep enough to break the skin. Slivers of blood appear, collecting under his fingernails. 

“You are _wrong_ ,” he says finally, his voice choked with passion. “I am not a homosexual. And tomorrow, I will take you upstairs myself.” 

***

The guards practically have to carry Bucky to his new cell. Rumlow had called an immediate end to the session, leaving Bucky still heavily drugged. The guards hoist him up between them, and drag him down an unfamilliar hallway to a door near the end. 

In all of the days’ events, Bucky had completely forgotten that he was to have a new cell and a roommate. 

The guards deposit him against the wall of the new room, toss his bundled handkerchief of possessions after him, and lock the door behind him. Bucky slumps with his face against the wall as their footsteps recede down the hallway, too feverish to open his eyes or move. 

For a moment, all is silent. 

And then… 

“Buck?” 

Bucky’s eyes fly open. He stares at the wall without seeing it as time and space spin around him. 

He would know that voice anywhere, any time in the world. 

It is a long moment before Bucky manages to speak. 

“No,” he breathes into the wall. “You _didn’t_. Tell me you didn’t, punk. Oh, _God_ …” 

“I had to, Buck.” 

There is a footstep behind him, and suddenly a pair of thin, familiar arms are wrapping around his waist. 

Bucky silently curses the punk’s selfless, stupid, stupid, courage. And curses his own selfish fucking relief and joy as those arms wrap around him. 

_The goddamn idiot turned himself in to HYDRA._

This is the best and worst thing that could possibly have happened… 

Bucky takes a deep, shaking breath, and turns around. He gazes down into the baby blue eyes of Steve Rogers.


	5. Philia and Phobia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is not the same person he was two months ago. 
> 
>  
> 
> But Steve’s touch feels just the same, like safety and sanity and home. 
> 
>  
> 
> Steve washes the vomit out of Bucky’s hair and off of his face. Soap runs into Bucky’s eyes, and he screws them up against the sting, but Steve pats his eyelids with a dry washcloth until he can open them again. 
> 
>  
> 
> They curl up together in the corner of the shower, limbs tangled and foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air as the water courses over them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly idek what genre to call this fic at this point so I am just gonna call it "historical-horror-coming-of-age-porn". ;)
> 
> CONTENT WARNING  
> Vomiting (in the first section)

“My God, Buck, you look awful,” Steve says for the fourth time. 

He is running the shower, one hand outstretched to test the temperature of the water, while Bucky sits on the lid of the toilet in their new tiny bathroom. 

“Gotta puke again,” Bucky groans, and slides off of the toilet onto the floor beside it. Steve reaches over to raise the lid of the toilet just in time, and Bucky vomits into the bowl. 

“I gotcha, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs. He crouches down beside Bucky and rubs a hand in comforting circles on his back until the vomiting subsides. 

Hot and bleary, Bucky slumps backward against Steve, his head resting on Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve kisses him on the top of the head and reaches up to flush the toilet. 

“Christ, it’s hot,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve nods. 

“Yeah, you’re burning up. Let’s get you in the water, alright?” 

“Yeah.” 

Bucky does not bother to un-dress, he just turns and crawls into the cool flow of the shower. He slumps against the tile wall, letting the water splash in his face and soak the front of his shirt. 

Steve takes off his own clothes, and then crawls into the shower next to Bucky and starts unbuttoning Bucky’s shirt. Bucky weakly helps Steve peel it off of him, and then slumps forward to let the water cool the back of his neck. 

Steve goes out into the bedroom for a moment, dripping all over the floor, and comes back with a bar of soap, which he runs across Bucky’s shoulder blades and down his back. Even without looking at Steve, Bucky can sense his expression. Steve’s eyebrows are drawn together in a crease of concern. He is scanning Bucky’s body and marking the differences, the damages. 

Bucky’s ribs are visible on his torso and back. His face and neck are splotched red with burst blood vessels, from dry heaving. His hair is getting long and unkempt. As Steve undoes Bucky’s belt and helps him pull off his pants, Bucky is thankful that the bruises on his ass have faded from blue to a less-horrifying yellow. 

Bucky is not the same person he was two months ago. 

But Steve’s touch feels just the same, like safety and sanity and home. 

Steve washes the vomit out of Bucky’s hair and off of his face. Soap runs into Bucky’s eyes, and he screws them up against the sting, but Steve pats his eyelids with a dry washcloth until he can open them again. 

They curl up together in the corner of the shower, limbs tangled and foreheads pressed together, breathing the same air as the water courses over them. 

***

The room has two dressers and two thin cots, spaced at opposite walls. It is whitewashed and windowless, as every room at HYDRA seems to be. 

Steve had dropped a suitcase on the cot nearer to the door, which he had crammed with necessities, including soap, condoms, and bandages. He had also brought a strange bundle of old magazines, the teddybear that he had given Bucky last year for Hanukkah, and, mercifully, clean clothes for Bucky. But clothes can wait for tomorrow: neither of them bothers to get dressed when they are alone together. 

Steve towels-off Bucky’s wet skin and hair, and guides him to the open cot. Bucky gratefully drinks the tin canteen of water that Steve hands him, and lays back. Steve curls around him and tugs the blanket over them. It is only around noon, but they are both exhausted. 

The achy fatigue in Bucky’s body tells him that he will fall asleep the moment he closes his eyes. But he wills himself to stay awake long enough to get a few answers out of Steve. 

“How’d ya find out where I was?” he murmurs. 

“Spied on your folks. Took weeks, though.” 

“What tipped you off?” 

“Looked through their mail. Two weeks ago they got a bill from HYDRA.” 

Bucky nods. He has not thought much about his parents in the past two months. He does not hate them; he knows that they thought they were doing the right thing for him. But the relationship is broken, and he will never go back to them. 

“And then you just--?” 

“Telephoned HYDRA, yeah. Said I wanted to come. The government paid for my registration. And for the telephone call.” 

“But how’d you know what _room_ I was gonna be in?” 

“That part was just luck. They gave me a form to match me with a roommate, wanted to know my sleeping habits and all that stuff. So I just wrote down all of yours, and hoped for the best. And it sure worked.” Steve snuggles into Bucky. 

“You’re a whiz.” Bucky says. “Absolutely brilliant, punk.” 

Steve gives a sleepy coo of affection. 

“But _God_ , do I wish you hadn’t done it,” Bucky adds. How _stupid_ Bucky had been to imagine for one second that Steve would just stay where he was safe. 

Steve has his answer ready. “There’s no point, Buck. I’m here, alright?” 

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t’ve done it. Trust me, I ain’t worth this.” 

“I know what they do.” 

“Maybe, but you don’t know _how they are_. They’re not gonna care about your lungs, Stevie. They won’t stop if you’re coughing…” The thought is too horrible to finish, and Bucky’s voice breaks. 

Steve reaches up to put a hand on his cheek. “Don't worry about me,” he murmurs. "I'm a lot tougher than I look." 

“But--” 

“But nothin’.” 

Steve’s jaw is set. And Bucky knows there is no point in arguing about it. Even if Steve _could_ leave now, he wouldn’t. Bucky closes his eyes in defeat. 

“You punk bastard,” he murmurs. 

Steve kisses him on the nose. 

***

Bucky wakes to the sound of the little food slot in the cell door being closed; someone has dropped off their dinners. It must be around seven pm. 

Bucky’s fever and nausea are gone. In fact, he feels better than he has in weeks. Steve is still asleep beside him. His arms are wrapped around Bucky’s chest, and his breath caresses Bucky's neck. Their body heat has pooled under the blankets. A pleasant tingle stirs through Bucky's body. The tenderest parts of Steve are pressed against him, warm, soft and trusting. 

As he starts to stir, Steve fidgets unconsciously against Bucky. He rubs himself a little against Bucky's thigh as he starts to harden. His sleepy breath on Bucky's neck becomes a little heated. Bucky's body responds in kind, a light pulse starting in his groin. 

But he is painfully hungry, and he has to pee, and so he reluctantly untangles himself from Steve and sets to satisfying his body’s non-Steve-related needs. 

A few minutes later he crawls back into bed with the refilled canteen of water, and passes it to a bleary and flushed Steve. Steve takes a few chugs and then sets it on the floor and wraps his body back around Bucky. “Mmmmm,” he murmurs, his face in Bucky’s hair. 

“You hungry, baby?” Bucky asks. 

“Not really.” Steve nuzzles against his ear. “Kinda hot, though.” 

Bucky is very familiar with Steve’s chaste advances. “Hot” usually means “horny”, and sure enough, when Bucky sneaks a look downward, he can see a bulge in the blankets over Steve's hips. 

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, his voice breathy. 

“Mmmmm,” Steve murmurs again, into his ear. 

His heart speeding up a little, Bucky runs a hand down over the blankets and places it on the bulge. Steve catches a shaky breath. 

Bucky runs his palm in a circle on top of the blankets, just enough pressure to get Steve throbbing, pushing lightly into his hand for more. Steve's erection presses all the way up against the skin of his lower belly. Bucky runs a teasing thumb up and down it through the blankets, while Steve gets harder and more desperate. Finally, with a frustrated little noise, he flips around and presses his mouth into Bucky's. 

Both of them forget to breathe for a few moments as they kiss with mouths open. They are starved for each other. 

Bucky runs his hands up to brush behind Steve's ears, twine through his hair. He runs a thumb against Steve's moist bottom lip, tugs it down a little, runs his tongue along the soft inside. They are impulsive and experimental when they kiss, leaving their inhibitions behind and exploring together. 

Steve clambers on top of Bucky. His eyes are already glowing bright, his cheeks and lips flushed pink. He grins as he runs his hands over Bucky's chest, musses his hair, caresses his forehead. Bucky knows Steve likes to playfully lay claim to his body like this, but Steve looks so wanton and gorgeous that Bucky can't just lie still for him. He rises up to kiss and bite Steve on his perfect neck, grips the cheeks of his perfect ass in both hands. 

Bucky scoots Steve down his body until their naked cocks are flush, pressed up against each other. Steve gasps a little, and they go back to slow, deep kissing. They moan softly into each others’ mouths as they rub their cocks together in little circles of pleasure. 

The roll of Steve's flesh, and the soft heat of Steve’s skin soothes a layer of tension out of Bucky’s body. Bucky's cock is eager, swelled uncomfortably hard with blood. It's feels amazing, to relax for the first time in months...to feel this pulsing between his legs for Steve, _Steve, Steve_.... 

Bucky can smell the residue of cologne from their corner store on Steve’s neck. The scent takes him back to their apartment, splaying their bodies out naked and fearless across their own bed. Wrestling, or kissing with hands tied. Experimenting with soda water blow-jobs and hot candle wax dripped across their collarbones. Teasing each other from behind with shoulder kisses. Tiger balm hand jobs. Playing their way to unbearable orgasms and going limp on top of each other. 

_It’s been so long…_

As though reading his mind, Steve hits him with a sunshine smile, his eyes sparkling. “Can you believe we’re doing this _here_?” 

Bucky cackles breathily and grins back. “Yeah, I guess they haven’t managed to cure me yet.” 

Steve kisses him ferociously. “They’d better not.” 

An uncomfortable feeling rises suddenly in Bucky’s gut. In the excitement of seeing Steve, and of doing this with him, he has completely forgotten to mention Rumlow’s declaration this morning. “Tomorrow, I’ll take you upstairs myself.” 

Shit. This is not a good moment to say something. But Steve has got to know. 

Steve detects Bucky’s discomfort instantly. His brows crease together. “What’s wrong?” 

Bucky takes a deep breath and fights to bring himself down enough to think straight. 

“Stevie, I gotta tell you somethin'.” 

***

_If tomorrow Bucky is brain dead from lobotomy, at least he got to see this one last time._

Steve lowering himself onto Bucky’s cock, biting his own red bottom lip as his brows crease with pleasure-pain. 

Bucky’s back is leaning against the wall and Steve is straddling his lap on the bed. 

Bucky grits his teeth and fights the urge to thrust up into the tight heat pressing down around his cock. Their eyes meet for a moment before Steve's eyes roll closed and Bucky's head falls back against the wall. 

Steve lets out a keening moan as he sinks to the base of Bucky’s cock. They are both slick with vaseline, easing the entry. It squelches inside and outside of the condom, a familiar sound and smell to accompany the pleasure that feels new every time. Steve starts slow, clenches and pulses his muscles around Bucky's cock until all of Bucky's breath is gone, and then rocks back and forth a little, and up and down, moaning to his rhythm. Pleasure blooms from Bucky’s groin up through his gut, his chest, as Steve rides him, slowly and more and more deeply. _Even if the rest of the world conspired to damage Bucky's body, overwrite his desires, cut him off from bliss and sanity forever, Steve would still seek only to pleasure, nurture, and protect him. Steve would always be able to make Bucky come undone, surrendering to his own pleasure and depth, opening like a flower in the spring._

Bucky keeps desperate, heated eyes on Steve's face while Steve grinds pleasure into both of their hips. Steve kisses his lips, ears, eyebrows, face, and then gasps as he apparently grinds Bucky's cock into a sweet spot. Steve rises and falls more urgently on the spot, fucking Bucky deeper and harder into him until his head falls back and he makes a noise that turns Bucky's brain inside-out. 

_If Bucky is castrated tomorrow, at least he got to feel this one last time._

“ _Stevie…_ ” His voice creaks like a rusty gate. 

Steve’s whole body shudders and his head rolls with pleasure. He slumps forward and rests his forehead against the wall over Bucky’s shoulder. “Oh, God, _Buck, fuck me…_ ” he pants into the wall. Bucky snarls like an animal and flips their bodies around to fuck Steve into the mattress. 

“ _Oh God, yes…oh, please…ohhh, Bucky, Bucky… _”__

__Steve comes across his chest with a silent scream, his face a mask of incredulous pleasure, his fingers knotted into Bucky’s hair. Bucky follows him over the edge. Oh God, oh _fuck_ , Bucky gasps profanities against Steve's shoulder as his body shakes with a hard, sweet orgasm. An ecstatic shiver runs through the deepest parts of him. It is like electricity. But this is not electric shock. This is anything but electric shock. _ _

____

Steve gazes at him through dazzlingly bright, half-closed blue eyes, and after a moment he twists a little and starts moaning in the aftershocks of orgasm. Bucky pulls out of him, slowly and carefully, and kisses his way down Steve's body to slide Steve's now-soft and throbbing cock into his mouth. Steve's back arches off the bed as Bucky sucks him tenderly. 

____

_"Ohhhhh... ohhh, Bucky, ohhhh..."_

____

Bucky bats his cock a little with his tongue, rolls it around in his mouth while Steve arches and grips at the sheets. Bucky tortures him with the overstimulation until he knows Steve will be starting to feel actual pain, and then releases him, plants a kiss on his cock, and flips his limp body over to eat him out. Steve's body _spasms_ with pleasure as Bucky tugs his cheeks apart and presses his tongue flat inside of him. 

____

But this time, Steve's full-bodied groan of Bucky's name morphs into a sob. 

____

“Alright, sweetheart?” Bucky murmurs, pulling away for a moment. 

____

There are tears running out of Steve’s bright eyes onto the pillow. 

____

This is not too alarming to Bucky; Steve often cries after they have sex, overwhelmed with vulnerability and tenderness, or reminded of deep old aches. Bucky is learning just to hold him through it, not offering solutions, just validation and security. _It is amazing, the things Steve can feel_ … 

____

A sob wracks Steve’s thin body. Bucky quickly comes up to hold him. Steve wraps himself around Bucky and buries his face in Bucky’s shoulder. 

____

Bucky pulls the blankets up around Steve. He kisses Steve on the forehead and holds him fiercely, feeling something sharp and pure in his chest that makes it hard to breathe. “Let it out, baby, I gotcha. I gotcha.” 

____

Steve sobs. And suddenly, through the mysterious empathy link that exists between them, Bucky understands the fear, the grief, in Steve's heart. 

____

“They’re not gonna change how I feel about you, alright?” Bucky murmurs into the air between them. “I can't promise they won't mess up my brain and my body, but I promise you, they can't touch my heart. I’m stuck on you for good and ever. D’you hear me, Steve Rogers?”

____


	6. The First Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky tries to set his dread aside for a moment. He is interested in what Steve is doing, and also in how adorable the punk looks, butt naked and on a mission, scanning a finger down the cover of each journal, his brow creased with concentration.
> 
>  “Say, whatcha doin’ there, dollface?” Bucky flirts. Steve looks up, surprised to see him awake, and pinkens a little. But his voice is serious when he asks, “Buck, you said, last night, your doc’s name. What was it again?”
> 
> “Rumlow.”
> 
> Bucky rolls onto his stomach and props himself up on his arms to get a look at the magazines on the floor.
> 
> “Yes!” Steve exclaims. “I swear, I read it somewhere in one of these. It was somethin’ important.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: 
> 
> Mentions of institutionalized racism, misogyny, and antisemitism

Bucky wakes when Steve’s warmth leaves his side. 

There is a knot of dread in Bucky stomach, the first thing he notices as he wakes up. It takes him a moment to remember why: Steve’s first “therapy” session is this afternoon. 

It is early, too early to be awake, but Steve is unlatching the suitcase and rifling through it, in profile to Bucky. Bucky watches blearily as he digs a stack of magazines out of the suitcase and drops it on the floor. Steve spreads the magazines out around him and scans over them, his lips pressed together thoughtfully. Bucky rolls over to get a look at the magazine covers: fifteen or twenty issues of Psychoanalytic Quarterly. 

Bucky tries to set his dread aside for a moment. He is interested in what Steve is doing, and also in how adorable the punk looks, butt naked and on a mission, scanning a finger down the cover of each journal, his brow creased with concentration. 

“Say, whatcha doin’ there, dollface?” Bucky flirts. Steve looks up, surprised to see him awake, and pinkens a little. But his voice is serious when he asks, “Buck, you said, last night, your doc’s name. What was it again?” 

“Rumlow.” 

Bucky rolls onto his stomach and props himself up on his arms to get a look at the magazines on the floor. 

“Yes!” Steve exclaims. “I swear, I read it somewhere in one of these. It was somethin’ important.” 

Bucky scans his eye over the dry, scholarly-looking journals. This is odd, Steve is not typically interested in science. Bucky is blessed and cursed with an insatiable curiosity, and usually _he_ is the one to horde scientific periodicals. He scoops one up and flips through it at random. It is dated from 1938, last year. 

This first article he sees is titled, “The Ordeal of the Id”. Bucky scans down to the concluding paragraph. 

“ _… in the hypervigilant individual, the id is subjugated by violent force, the flagellations of the superego making a bloody pulp of every whim. The concept of self is threatened when the id is indulged, leading to shame and masochistic desires…_ ” 

Bucky glances at the next article. 

“ _A new approach to therapy of Erythrophobia; morbid blushing in young men which phallicizes the face, satisfying unconscious exhibitionist and punishment wishes…_ ” 

Below there is a short and scathing text box review of Virginia Woolf’s new book “A Room of One’s Own”. 

And on the next page, a translation of the “Manifesto of the Racial Scientists”, which the translator raves is “ _informing the policies of Italy’s bold new leadership_ ”. Reading between the lines, Bucky thinks it sounds like this so-called “science” is being used to justify stripping Italian Jews of all their civil rights. 

Bucky lets out a low whistle. 

“Where’d you get this garbage, Stevie?” 

“Pinched it from the library,” Steve says. “Thought there might be some stuff in here that could help us somehow. And if I can just find that article I thought I saw…” 

Bucky flips through a few more pages of the magazine. “Nuts, isn’t it? There’s scientists figuring out how atoms work, and how the stars break down, same time as there’s other scientists writing _this_ scrap. Don’t make any sense.” 

Steve gives a nod of agreement. “Yeah, not to mention that _eugenics_.” 

Before Bucky can answer, Steve let out a gasp of discovery. 

“Here! Buck. I found it. C’mere.” 

Bucky rolls out of the bed and plops down across from Steve with the magazines between them. Steve grips the splayed pages of an old edition, dated from August 1914. He points to the left hand page, and next to a diatribe about the “ _pathologies of militant hysteria among suffragettes_ ”, Bucky sees a very grainy portrait of a young boy, his black hair greased back and his hands politely clasped in his lap. 

_Clinical trials of aversive therapy techniques provide successful conversion of a homosexual youth to heterosexuality._

Steve flips the magazine around and passes it to Bucky, his face grim. 

_Clinical trials performed by Hirschfield et. al through the Bureau of Social Hygiene, and with generous funding from the Rockefeller family, has successfully proven the efficacy of aversive conditioning techniques for the treatment of homosexuality. Nine-year-old Brock Rumlow, here pictured, was treated using aversive conditioning techniques for a period of six months, following an appeal to the Bureau by his parents. This case study promises great things for the future of early intervention in homosexual tendencies._

Bucky lowers the magazine and let’s out of a low whistle. “Get outta here…” 

Steve nods grimly. “Yeah. He was their first experiment.” 

Bucky stares at the grainy photograph of the little boy, his hair perfect, his hands clasped politely, his eyes empty, black, as though he were staring into pitch darkness. 

He blows out a puff of air and looks back up at Steve. 

“You thinking this could help me convince him not to take me upstairs?” 

“I’m thinking it’s worth a shot,” says Steve. “I know it’s kind of a long-shot, but maybe he’s still got something left in him, you know? Something of that little kid they tortured.” 

“I don’t know,” Bucky says doubtfully. “Maybe _you_ could wring it outta him. But I’m not so good at that sorta thing. He was pretty hell-bent on getting me upstairs. I don’t think there’s anything I could say--” 

“Then _do_ somethin',” Steve cuts him off. He raises his chin and looks directly at Bucky; it is an order. “Get yourself out of this. I know you can. You’ve got more street smarts than anyone. Just…talk to him. If you gotta, trick him. Bribe him. Whatever it takes.” 

No one else would be able to see it, but Bucky can see terror in Steve’s baby blue eyes. Steve is barely keeping it together inside, terrified that the Bucky he will hold tonight will be nothing but a broken shell of his sweetheart. 

Bucky reaches out to take Steve’s hands. “I’ll get out of it, Stevie,” he says. “Cross my heart.” 

Steve nods, relief painting a sappy little smile on his lips, and Bucky digs through the suitcase and throws a set of clothes at him. 

“We should get dressed,” he says. “They’ll be here soon.” 

They both pull on their shirts and step into drawers and trousers, and Bucky has just finished tying his shoes when he hears footsteps at the end of the hallway. His heart leaps into his throat. The guards are coming for _him_ , thank goodness; Steve’s first session is scheduled for the afternoon. But it is unlikely that Bucky will be back before they come for Steve. There is so much he needs to tell Steve, to make sure… 

He grips Steve’s thin shoulders. “Don’t talk back to them today,” he says in a rush. “Don’t goad ‘em, don’t pick a fight. You hear me? Don’t give them a reason to hurt you worse.” 

Bucky gazes at Steve fiercely, aware of how much he is asking of Steve. But Steve’s toe-headedness is not going to charm any HYDRA doctor. _And what’s it to HYDRA if some back-talking orphan gets hurt beyond repair?_

“I’m dead serious, baby, _please God_ , don’t crust them.” 

Steve opens his mouth to protest but Bucky claps a hand over it. There is a knock on their door and Steve reaches out to grab Bucky’s face with both hands. They clutch each other for a rushed, fierce kiss, and pull apart just in time as the door opens, and Bucky’s guards step across the threshold.


	7. The Flagellations of the Superego

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumlow is none-too-gentle as he pushes Bucky to his knees. 
> 
> He stoops to bind Bucky’s hands behind his back, and Bucky gives no protest, staring at the blank projector in front of him. 
> 
> Rumlow snaps his hands into rubber gloves and shakes a nausea pill from a jar into his hand.
> 
> “I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d need that today,” Bucky says, still staring straight ahead. 
> 
> Rumlow freezes for a moment. He is tense, clearly still uncomfortable looking directly at Bucky. But after a moment, he says dryly, “Gotta get you nice and compliant. We don’t want you punching or biting anyone today. The fellas upstairs don’t take so well to that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warnings:
> 
> Sadism and masochism
> 
> Use of the words "slut" and "whore" (used against a man)
> 
> Needles, injections (And needle sharing. Don't share needles, it is hella dangerous!)
> 
> Dubiously consensual blow-jobs

Rumlow is none-too-gentle as he pushes Bucky to his knees. 

He stoops to bind Bucky’s hands behind his back, and Bucky gives no protest, staring at the blank projector in front of him. The room is oddly quiet without the click of the projector and the static sound of the shock generator. 

Rumlow snaps on a pair of rubber gloves and shakes a nausea pill from the jar into his palm. 

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d need that today,” Bucky says, still staring straight ahead. 

Rumlow freezes for a moment. He is tense, clearly still unable to look directly at Bucky since Bucky's accusations in their last session. 

But after a moment, the doctor says, “Gotta get you nice and compliant. We don’t want you punching or biting anyone today. The fellas upstairs don’t take so well to that.” 

“Aww, so you _do_ care,” Bucky quips. 

Rumlow rolls his eyes and strides over to grip Bucky by the jaw. 

“Doc,” Bucky says quickly, “Wait." 

Rumlow raises his eyebrows, his hand clamped on Bucky’s jaw and the pill pinched between his index finger and thumb, held over Bucky’s mouth. 

"There’s…there’s somethin’ I gotta say,” Bucky says. 

“Say, how unusual,” Rumlow says dryly. 

“Listen.” Bucky draws a deep breath. He tries to make his voice shake a little, as though with emotion. “Doc. When I said you were a filthy sick bastard hypocrite, I didn’t mean…that was all bad, you know?” 

Rumlow’s grip tightens a little and his brows rise higher. 

“What I meant was…well gosh.” Bucky wills a blush into his cheeks. “When I said you think about fucking me while you torture me…the thing is…well, to level with you…" Bucky swallows. "I think about it too.” 

Rumlow’s inhale is so sharp it sounds almost painful. 

“Think about it a lot,” Bucky murmurs, encouraged. “And sometimes at night, gosh, I guess I should just say it, doc...I rub my pillow on my cock, get myself off, y’know, thinking about you…” 

Rumlow’s breath catches. He unconsciously digs his teeth into his bottom lip, trying to sneer at Bucky. But sudden, violent arousal is written all over his face. 

Bucky is bullshitting, of course. But it is so satisfying to mess with Rumlow that he feels himself actually start to get a little hard. 

“Think about you tying me down and touching me…” he barrels on. “Rubbing my cock and touching my hole…I know I ain’t supposed to think those things, but I know you think ‘em too, and doc, nobody would have to know…” 

“Well, you little slut,” Rumlow murmurs, his voice very gravelly. 

Bucky grins a little, and lets his eyes roam over the bulge in Rumlow’s pants, and slowly up to Rumlow’s face. Then he leans in, letting his lips brush against Rumlow’s latex-gloved fingers. Rumlow watches him without breathing, his face a brutal mix of repulsion and desire. 

Bucky closes his lips slowly around the tip of Rumlow's ring finger. The nausea pill drops from between Rumlow's thumb and forefinger and bounces to the floor. 

Bucky had learned his finger-sucking tricks from an older dame he used to go out on the town with. She’d worked him up this way once at a street carnival and then given him head in their compartment on the Ferris wheel. He silently thanks her now for the comprehensive education, as he watches Rumlow’s face contort. 

Rumlow looks like a man tearing himself apart. 

Bucky smirks a little more and pushes his mouth down on Rumlow’s finger, takes it in past the knuckle and then pulls back, tugs at the latex with his teeth. He keeps his eyes mercilessly raised to Rumlow’s, takes the finger in to the hilt, sucks hard and presses it to the roof of his mouth with his tongue. Rumlow’s eyes are dark and hot, and a red flush is rising in his cheeks and neck. 

Bucky’s good with his mouth and he knows it, but he’s never gotten such a rapid, intense reaction to this trick out of anyone. Decades of violent repression must have left Rumlow not only perverted and sadistic in his desires, but _desperate_. 

Rumlow pulls his finger mostly out of Bucky's mouth for a moment and then pushes it back in far, intentionally flicking Bucky’s gag reflex. 

“You,” Rumlow murmurs low, “you’re just trying to save your own skin.” He toys with Bucky’s gag reflex and watches Bucky gag and choke a little, his head cocked almost affectionately. 

Bucky hesitates for a moment, debating whether or not he should lie and keep up the façade of genuinely wanting Rumlow. 

But having Bucky offering himself like this, bound and on his knees, is already getting Rumlow red in the face. And Bucky has a hunch that knowing Bucky is doing it out of desperation will turn Rumlow inside-out. So he smirks, and says, “Is it working?” 

Rumlow chuckles breathily. “Whore.” 

The doctor reaches down, and brushes open his white lab coat. His trousers are straining, stretched tight against his crotch. 

He catches the button and jerks them open. He reaches in and fumbles with his drawers for a moment, then pulls out a cock; huge, thick, almost fully hard and slightly purple with blood. 

Bucky licks his lips and raises his eyes to Rumlow’s again, allowing himself just the hint of a smirk. He is not afraid; his plan is working out pretty smoothly so far, and if all goes as planned, Rumlow will never even touch him. But he doesn’t mind touching Rumlow. No, he doesn’t mind at all. In fact, there’s something very arousing about the power trip, undoing Rumlow with this pleasure that the man has rejected above all else. 

Rumlow stares hungrily down at Bucky’s face. He grips his thick cock in the air between them for a moment. Then he slowly lowers it and, with another sharp little inhale, brushes the tip against Bucky’s mouth. He traces it slowly around the curves of Bucky's moistened lips. And then, cringing and turning his face away, he presses the thing between Bucky’s lips, into his hot, waiting mouth. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps. 

Bucky smirks around the cock, and Rumlow pushes in deeper. He opens his eyes, and keeping one hand at the base of his cock, he reaches down with the other to let his thumb brush over Bucky’s throat, his adam’s apple, the vulnerable skin below his chin. His eyes scan Bucky’s face unblinkingly, drinking in the sight as though he is dying of thirst. And then Bucky firms his lips and hollows his cheeks around the cock, and Rumlow’s eyes roll closed with pleasure. 

Bucky sucks just hard enough to make the flesh roll over itself as he moves his head, up and down. Rumlow tastes oddly good, a sortof salty, almost meaty taste. The doctor draws short, shuddering breaths and ruts forward a little, and after a few quiet grunts, he chuckles low in his throat. 

“Well now, you’ve done this before, haven’t you, kid? How many fellas you sucked off, James?” It’s a rhetorical question; he ruts into Bucky’s mouth again, stopping his answer. “How many cocks you sucked with that pretty mouth?” 

Bucky recalls how Rumlow had talked during the spanking incident, the way he had lost control of himself and spewed filthy words. Bucky predicts an encore. And sure enough, the filthy jargon comes, rushing out of Rumlow’s lips after a few more pulls on his cock. 

“Bet you’re real popular down at the Navy Yards, a good little whore for any man who can do you a favor, huh? Maybe let a sailor put a hand down your pants for a five-spot? And maybe let the rich fellas take you to St. George Hotel, rub you off on those nice, silky sheets?” Rumlow pauses to draw breath and shudders, his cock throbbing deep in Bucky’s mouth, and his voice gets more and more desperate as he snarls on. “What they gotta do to get to stick it in that pretty peach of yours, huh? You let them stick it in that little peach, get some juice running, fuck you all around and wreck you, let them lick the juice off after, don't you? Don't you, you little--” 

Rumlow’s cock suddenly spasms and the doctor gasps and jerks away from Bucky. He clutches the base of his cock tight and screws up his face with the effort of suppressing the rush of an oncoming orgasm. 

Then he draws a deep, shuddering breath, and raises a shaking hand to wipe a bead of sweat from his hairline. He seems to make a decision, and with an effort, he stuffs his cock back into his trousers and buttons them. 

He paces away from Bucky, over to the shelf of medical supplies. 

_Shit._ Bucky watches, worried that he has lost his hold on Rumlow, and his chance to execute his plan. 

The good news is, Rumlow strides back to him after only a moment. The bad news is, he is holding a syringe. It is loaded with a red gel and primed to be shot. 

_Torture drugs._

__Rumlow’s expression is grim. He opens his pants again and holds his cock out. It is still swelled hard, a vein popping at the center._ _

____

“Go on,” he murmurs. 

____

Bucky obligingly opens his mouth for the cock, and Rumlow presses it in again. Bucky closes his eyes as he works the cock with his tongue, waiting for the sting of the needle somewhere on his skin, the cruel rush of that red gel into his body. He should have anticipated that Rumlow would want to get off to the sight of him riddled with pain... 

____

But the shot does not come for several moments, and Bucky opens his eyes again to see Rumlow with his brow furrowed, still staring down at Bucky’s face. When their eyes meet, Rumlow’s cock throbs. 

____

He gives a terrible snarl of shame and longing, and jams the needle down into his own thigh. 

____

"Jeez!" Bucky lurches back in his surprise as Rumlow injects three quarters of the gel into himself, slow and controlled, his teeth gritted. 

____

"Don't go too far, kid," Rumlow growls, and tugs Bucky back by the hair. 

____

He yanks the syringe out of his leg. Then, before Bucky can protest, he pushes up the sleeve of Bucky’s t-shirt, expertly grips the muscle of Bucky's forearm, and breaks his skin, injecting the last of the drug into him. 

____

A sharp, metallic pain creeps down Bucky’s arm from the broken spot, builds slowly in his veins. 

____

Rumlow sways a little where he stands. They both breathe hard for a few moments, looking at each other as the cruel medicine starts to take hold, and they shudder with the same pain. 

____

_“Don’t it hurt?”_ Rumlow whispers, almost too quietly to hear. 

____

“Get in the fucking chair,” Bucky gasps. 

____

To his amazement, Rumlow obeys, stepping around him and slumping into the chair, his legs spread wide and his cock hanging ready. 

____

Bucky turns around and crouches between Rumlow’s legs. His brain is doing all sorts of strange, wild things, and for a moment he considers lubing himself up and straddling Rumlow’s lap. Legs wide and hands still bound behind his back, he would sit down on that fat cock and take it all inside of him. He imagines the look on Rumlow’s face when his mind exploded with the pleasure of intercourse. 

____

But Bucky’s plan is a little different. And it ought to work-out right about now, if he can just get his hands free. 

____

Bucky tilts his chin down and leans in to deep throat Rumlow’s cock. He waits until the doctor is gasping again, overwhelmed with the pleasure and pain in his body. Then Bucky fidgets, as though annoyed that he cannot touch Rumlow with his hands. He pops the cock out of his mouth and asks teasingly, “you gonna make me do this all with just my mouth?” 

____

Rumlow leans forward and unties Bucky’s hands immediately. Bucky reaches up to rub the cock between them, as though he were slowly starting a fire. Rumlow _groans_ , and his head falls back against the chair. 

____

Bucky waits. His heart starts to pound faster. And when Rumlow’s hands fall to the armrests, adrenaline spikes hot in Bucky’s gut. He seizes his moment. 

____

Bucky reaches up and clasps the chair’s restraints around Rumlow’s wrists. His hands shake with nerves, and he fumbles uselessly with the second lock for a moment, but Rumlow’s reactions are slowed by his lust. 

____

By the time Rumlow realizes what is happening, Bucky has already sprung to his feet to grab and slam down the booster-seat apparatus, trapping the doctor in place. 

____

Rumlow’s eyes fly open. He jerks against the wrist restraints, and gapes as Bucky crouches down to fasten the ankle-restraints, too. 

____

“What the _hell_ are you doing?!” 

____

Bucky is a little dizzy with adrenaline, and with pain, now that the torture drugs are starting to kick in properly. But he still manages his best smug grin as he stands up. 

____

“Sorry doc,” he says, with a theatrical glance at his bare wrist, “Looks like it’s that time. I gotta run.” 

____

Rumlow stares at Bucky, his chest heaving and his body slick with sweat. His restrained hands are clenched into fists, and his cock is straining against the bar between his legs, a bead of pre-cum at the tip. 

____

Bucky reaches in to tug-off the ring of keys that is attached to Rumlow’s hip with a bungee-chord. He flips through the keys until he finds the one labeled with the number for his and Steve’s room. He works it off of the ring and pockets it, then drops the rest of the keys on the floor. 

____

“Not gonna look so keen for your job performance when my guards find you bound in the chair with your cock hanging out,” he comments. 

____

Rumlow growls, and thrashes a little. His eyes never leave Bucky’s face. 

____

“Get in my lap,” he snarls. 

____

“Not a chance, doc.” 

____

Bucky turns to leave. 

____

There is no point in gagging Rumlow; no one will be able to hear him yell in the sound-proof room. And there is nothing else to be said. 

____

But as Bucky strides toward the door, Rumlow’s anguished cry of, “James!” makes him hesitate, and turn around again. 

____

Rumlow clenches his fists so tightly that his fingernails break his skin. His chest is heaving and a vein is pulsing in his forehead. His eyes are long dark tunnels to nowhere. And when he speaks, his voice is so broken that it makes Bucky shudder. 

____

“James. Turn it on.” He gestures with his head to the oversized shock generator. 

____

Bucky stares at him. 

____

“ _Please_ , James. _Please....”_

____

For a moment, Bucky considers. 

____

He could turn the shock generator on, leave Rumlow to an endless barrage of shocks to his swollen, purple cock. Let Rumlow experience the pain that is his only consolation in his self-loathing. And to be honest, Bucky would love to give Rumlow a taste of his own medicine. 

____

But Steve wouldn’t do it. 

____

So Bucky turns away again, and heads for the door. 

____

Just before he slips out, he pauses one last time. “My name is Bucky,” he says. 

____

And he goes. 

__

__

*

__

__

Bucky will later remember the next few minutes only as a blur of pain. He runs as though in a dream through empty white hallways as the solid, metallic pain in his veins becomes more and more intense. 

____

His vision is a little blurry by the time he reaches the door of their room, pulls the key out of his pocket, and throws the door open. 

____

Steve freezes in the middle of pacing a lap across the room. His whole body is tense with stress, the veins in his neck standing out a little and his jaw locked like a vice. He blinks in shock at Bucky for a fraction of a moment, but as soon as their eyes meet he understands what is happening. He scrambles to grab the clothes lying on the bed and throw them into the suitcase. 

____

They are out the door in a matter of seconds and running down the hallway, expecting at any moment to see a guard rounding a corner. 

____

Steve takes over, navigating their way out, and Bucky follows, flying past door after identical door with his heart in his throat. 

____

They dash as quietly as they can past the front office. And then breathless, they slip hand-in-hand out of HYDRA’s front door into the light and noise of late morning in Brooklyn. 

__

__

*

__

__

They cannot go home, of course. 

____

Their apartment is the first place the police will look for them. 

____

And they certainly can’t go to Bucky’s parents’ place, and risk being sent straight back to HYDRA. 

____

It is November, and as Brooklyn gets colder, they spend what money they have carefully; loaves of bread, a thrift store jacket to share. A safe box to guard their spare change while they sleep, curled up together in alleyways or under the bridge. 

____

There are no jobs. The streets are full of desperate husbands and fathers seeking work, grateful even for day jobs hauling cement rubble. Bucky manages to get a few of these gigs, being able-bodied and young, and makes enough money to keep them eating, and to buy a blanket. 

____

They set up something of a kip in an alleyway behind a bakery. The owner mercifully turns a blind eye to their illegal presence, even though she most certainly knows that they eat the stale bread and muffins she throws out at the end of each day. The wall at the back of the bakery is warm, heated by the bread oven, and every night Bucky snugs Steve in between himself and the wall, praying that between Bucky’s body heat and the fading heat of the afternoon’s baking, Steve will be warm enough to keep him from pneumonia. 

____

When snow starts to fall they steal a tarp from a demolition site, and sling it between two trashcans over their makeshift bed. It works pretty well to keep the snow off of them, but there is just nothing to be done about the December cold that burns their fingers and toes, and creeps insidiously into Steve’s lungs. 

____

Bucky spends many nights awake, adjusting Steve’s body while he sleeps to keep him warm. Since HYDRA, Bucky’s relationship with sleep has been complicated; he often jerks awake with a rush of fight-or-flight adrenaline, shaking in the still and quiet pre-dawn. 

____

And too often, his mind races too fast to settle back into sleep. He lies prostrate to intrusive memories of torture, his parents’ rejection, nausea and powerless rage, and a new, unfamiliar, self-hatred. 

____

He hates the stubble that appears on his chin, the dark circles under his eyes. He hates how quick he is to prepare for a fight, how moody he gets, even digging at Steve on bad days. He wants to shine his shoes and gel his hair, take Steve out on the town and make him blush, give him happy butterflies in his stomach. 

____

He hates the cynicism and bitterness that live in him now, the urge to drink or shoot something up and forget everything, to be cruel to strangers, and to write the entire world off as a dark and unforgivably sad joke. 

____

_Because what is it to the United States of America, or even the state of New York, if a couple of queer kids from Brooklyn die of exposure?_

____

But Steve? 

____

Steve doesn’t give up. Stuffing a trash bag with newspapers to make a mattress, bargaining for food in the nearby Hoovervilles, sorting through trash for anything they can use or sell, tapping clean water from spigots and boiling it over a rusted rocket stove. 

____

Bucky looks at Steve, his best friend, his princess, his hero. 

____

HYDRA may have fucked with Bucky’s brain, but the only aversion they really managed to create in him was an aversion to injustice. 

____

And the aversion they’d been aiming for? Well, in all his stupid life, Bucky has never been so goddamn in love with Steve Rogers as he is now. 

____

He gets up the nerve to say so one cold night, because it just feels like he needs to. 

____

“I love you too, Buck. More than I ever loved anythin’.” 

____

They rest their foreheads together and fall asleep, breathing warm gusts of air on each others’ faces in the cold.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all the people who commented encouraging me to turn this into a multi-chapter fic! And to the people who left kudos and comments along the way. This fic and your feedback has really kept me going through my last few months of college. XD
> 
> Theme song for this fic is "The Spirit of Jazz" by The Gaslight Anthem:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3aRrcXH2IDo
> 
> Also now there is a sequel! Read "Making a Fire" at the link below! :D
> 
> Also also, follow me on tumblr for more fics! https://basilique.tumblr.com/


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